


A Bad Case of Lycanthropy

by harryhotspur (youalwaysfollowthehose)



Category: Henry IV Part 1 - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/M, private school boys hal and hotspur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2199168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youalwaysfollowthehose/pseuds/harryhotspur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for likeadeuce for the prompt <i>"Harry Percy is a werewolf.  However you want this to work -- werewolf Percies versus vampire Lancasters in epic battle; or an urban fantasy high school AU where Kate is the skeptical mortal girl who fights crime with him. My ships are Hotspur/Kate, Hotspur/Hal, Hotspur/Hal/Kate, Hotspur/Aumerle and Hotspur/Falstaff, so any combination of these is A+, though gen is also fine."</i> Also an attempt to solve the problem some productions have when Northumberland speaks BBC English and Hotspur in the Northumbrian/Geordie dialect. Too many pop-culture references. tw: for one classist slur near the start of the fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bad Case of Lycanthropy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [likeadeuce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeadeuce/gifts).



Honestly, in his final year of high school, the last thing Harry Percy needed was a bad case of lycanthropy.

In October he was fine, captain of rugby team, solid Cs and Bs in Media, PE and Sociology and a hunting trip to Scotland planned for the Christmas holidays. His father grumbled about his grades; his choice of future career in sports coaching and his particular choice to reject his family’s well-honed, upper class, received pronunciation accents and instead speak in a broad Geordie drawl. Due to his lack of local friends, he’d learnt his particular way of speaking from marathoning _Our Friends in The North_ , _Byker Grove_ and _Geordie Shore_ on You Tube during his final term in Year 11. That, alongside reading the works of Karl Marx under the covers formed the only subversive acts of rebellion of the son of the Duke of Northumberland with his own private suite in Warkworth Castle. His father grumbled and complained, but deep down Harry knew he was proud of his sporting and hunting prowess. Yes, little rebellions aside, he was to be a good heir.

All in all, he was very unlike his fellow Harry, young Prince Hal Plantagenet. The heir to the royal throne was prone to playing truant and running away from his royal protection officers, mostly to spend more time drinking with his new “boys” from the Comprehensive in town. The young Hal was always in the tabloids for some drunken antics, under headlines screaming HAL GOES WILD and SECRETS OF HAL’S CHAV CHUMS. The more indepth royal gossip blogs (not that Harry read them), debated the nature of Hal’s relationship with a local youth, Peter or Poins, or something. Harry only checked them in case news of his (now ended) affair with Hal during AS year came to light. 

He had come to terms with and accepted his bisexuality only this year, after the dust from his fling with Hal had subsided. The relationship he shared with Hal was more about physicality than emotion, all hormonal fumblings and secrets. It was the danger of it that kept their passion alive. They reenacted the old “the love that dares not speak it’s name” private school romance, but soon the late night courtyard gropes lost their appeal. 

Harry immersed himself in football, winning 5-1 against a well respected Scottish public school team and trying to pull up his Sociology grade. Hal immersed himself in drinking, wearing a lot of snapbacks and vests adorned with pictures of Magaluf. He lost his previous sense of decorum and scandalously kissed the locals under the watchful eyes of the press. Hal and Harry barely spoke now, instead he became a whispered presence tutted about at hunt meets and over late night fireside whiskeys. 

At the start of the school year, Harry had struck up an affair with Kate Mortimer, she was sensible and studious but with a rebellious streak. As a budding linguist and Welsh native, she spoke the language fluently. When she studied the poems and myths and the songs, Harry pretended to not be interested, but in truth he found it very soothing. And, of course, the sex wasn’t to be sniffed at. It wasn’t private and hidden like his relationship with Hal. Instead he stayed at her flat most weekends, and took her back home for dinners. His father approved of her, which is a plus point. One night, when they were retiring to bed, he overheard him saying he could see her as the “new Lady Percy” someday.

Everything changed after their hunting trip to Scotland. Harry, Kate and his parents went to their usual estate to shoot the various birds of the season. Harry separated himself from the group as the beaters sent the birds scattering and squawking into the sky. As he was walking, enjoying the crisp crunch of frosted ground under his feet, he caught the sight of something out of the corner of his eye, something large and hairy and fast. In a second, it was gone. Probably a deer? 

Harry crept forward, raising his shotgun he scanned the area for any trace of the animal. A crack echoed out across the moor, Harry turned. 

Then something hit him hard sending him stumbling over onto his knees. The shotgun flew out of his grasp and landed a good metre away. Harry rolled over and raised his arm instinctively to protect himself.

Looming over him was something that looked vaguely lupine. Wait, didn’t wolves die out in Scotland, years ago? At least it would have looked lupine if it wasn’t standing on two legs. Harry let out a cry and fumbled for the shotgun. Instead the creature lunged downwards and seized his arm.

After that everything became a blur. Kate’s voice in his ear, her hand on the side of his face. The pattering footsteps of the beaters, panicked tones in their far-away voices, setting off in pursuit of the animal. His father’s voice beside him, then the endless chop, chop, chop of helicopter blades. The moor seemed to grow further and further away, until it disappeared into darkness. 

*** 

_Twilight_ misrepresents transforming into a werewolf. Jacob is a man, then suddenly he’s leaping through the air as a wolf. Harry knew this because he read the whole series when he was twelve in an attempt to impress girls. Then he watched every film more than once, again for very scientific endeavors to understand the female psyche. 

“For a science experiment to be worthwhile, you have to repeat it more than once. I don’t make the rules.” he told his friends at the time, while buying a ticket to see _Eclipse_ for the fourth time. 

In reality, assuming a lupine form is painful and downright terrifying. Not just the physical sensations of every bone growing and twisting out of shape and hair sprouting from every pore, but the sudden deadening feeling of control slipping through your fingers. 

The first time he turned, he ran down to the river and hid. He awoke the next morning dressed in rags, dirt embedded in his nails with the taste of iron on his lips. Before sunrise, Harry crawled back to school, hastily showered and threw his ruined clothes in the skips behind he gym. 

For the first time in his life, he was ashamed of who he was. 

For the next three times he turned, he retreated alone to various remote locations in the few days before the full moon and limped back with some excuse a few days later. He started to miss school and his grades slipped. Harry now joined the company of Hal in his family’s tutted late night conversations. 

On the fourth time he turned, he limped back to Kate’s flat the day after. She was standing in her kitchen in her pajamas, cooking a pan full of fried eggs. Kate turned to him as he entered. She first noticed the large scratch on his cheek, still fresh with blood, then her eyes turned to his fingernails, the heat-rash-like spots running up and down his arms where hair had sprouted. 

Not missing a beat, she deposited the eggs onto a plate and placed them on the table.

“You look a bit hungry, like you need to wolf down some breakfast,” she said.

“What?” 

Harry stayed standing. 

“Wolf down some breakfast. Go on eat up.” Noticing his shocked expression, she sighed. “Come on Harry, I know you are a werewolf. I followed you, I know you run off to the forest to mope about not hurting anyone like a noble pariah. It’s okay, really.” 

“Really?” Harry said, raising one eyebrow. 

“Yes. Sit down, your eggs are getting cold.” She jabbed at his plate with her spatula. Harry obeyed. 

“You really don’t care?” 

The sense of relief was overwhelming. 

“No, I have a werewolf boyfriend. Did you know I read a lot of urban fantasy books when I was younger?" She fumbled with the dish rack sending it clattering across the sink. "Fourteen year old me would be jumping for joy. I’m going to write a memoir called Wife of the Wolf of Northumberland," Kate continued. By her rapid speech Harry could tell she was nervous. 

"Please don’t.” Harry mumbled through a mouthful of egg. 

“I won’t, don’t worry." She paused slightly and turned away from the sink, facing him, a more serious look in her eyes. "Honestly Harry, you are still you, you don’t have to hide and run away, you can stay here, I’ll look after you.”

“Thank you,” 

Kate smiled and him, then her face lightened and a laugh escaped her. 

“You know what is the best? In twenty or so years time, there will be a werewolf in the House of Lords.” 

Harry scoffed and shook his head. 

“That sounds like a bad Doctor Who episode, Kate.” 

She took his hand, and kissed him on the cheek. 

“You have to admit it’s pretty cool though, Harry.” 

He smiled and punched her lightly on the arm. 

“All right then, it’s pretty cool.” 


End file.
